


Indian Summer

by fairiel



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairiel/pseuds/fairiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to seduce Connor turns out to be more than Cara expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indian Summer

       Cara was walking to the river, a book in her hand. She liked the quiet of the riverbanks  and she preferred to be alone so she could immerse in her reading. When she arrived to her favourite spot, a little hill overlooking a small pool, she splayed her blanket on the grass and sat, knees folded under her long lilac skirt. She took off her straw hat, her pale complexion being protected by the trees. It was late summer or early autumn, she never knew. Anyway, it was warm and sunny, even if the leaves were already turning all shades of yellow, red and orange. Indian summer it was called over there. She had no trouble imagining why.   
    Absorbed in her book, she paid no attention to her surroundings when a loud splash interrupted her, making her startle. She closed her book and glanced in annoyance at the pool of water. Ripples disturbed its normally smooth surface as if something had fallen inside. It must have been a big rock, she thought, her eyes wandering all over, until they finally fell on a hump of clothes on the side of the river. A big rock, or a person, by the looks of it. Even from a distance, the clothes looked familiar. She had an idea who had plunged into the river. Connor. But where was he? She searched the surface, which was now returning to normal, when a head appeared in the middle of the pool.   
     He shook his hair away from his eyes as he emerged, unaware that he was being watched, and started swimming, his naked body glistening in the sun. Cara could do nothing but watch, mouth half-open, blood rising to her cheek, but unable to avert her eyes. From her point of view, she could see his butt just under the clear surface and she bit her lip, barely repressing a gasp at the sight of his perfectly muscular back and toned thighs. His arms waded in the water powerfully, his body gliding without any effort. She kept on watching, a smile on her face, while dreams of those strong arms encircling her came to her mind. She wondered what it would be like to be caught in his embrace. It would surely be warm and comfortable.  
      
    She had longed for him to touch her again for a long time now, ever since they had first met, on a similar day of Indian summer a year ago. She smiled as she remembered. It had been a bright afternoon and the sun had projected sparkly reflections on the water as the ship made its way to the Boston harbour. Indian summer. Forever it would remain her favourite season, even though she had only seen it once before, when they were visiting her mother's family in Quebec last year. The brownstone houses looked as unfamiliar as possible. She had left her beloved Virginia for Massachusetts, following her father who had been called by duty. But she already had a sense she would never feel at ease in such a big city. She missed the calm and quiet of the mansion, the view on the tobacco fields, the sun waking her up in the morning, the low chant of the slaves gathering tobacco while she played her pianoforte in the main room, windows opened to let some air through.  
    The ship had decked and her father had taken her by the hand to help her get down. Sure-footed as a deer, she had jumped off on the pier, her light blue skirts fluttering around her. As usual, she was dressed in a pale corseted dress, gauzy muslin so fine it was almost transparent.  
    "Cara!" her father had exclaimed, casting her a disapproving glance. "Never do that again, you're in a big city now."  
    "And so what?" she had asked, dismissing her father's reproach with a light laugh. "Why do I need to behave any differently?"  
    "Because I said so."  
    His tone was final and she knew better than to argue. She pursed her lips, but didn't say what was on her mind. Her father was already looking for their contact. She knew they wouldn't stay in Boston for long. Just as long as needs be, he had told her. He wouldn't say what needed to be done, and she had not pressed the matter further. Her father could be very secretive and she had learned a long time ago that he was working for a larger cause. His estate, his tobacco plantation, had only been a cover, a sort of protection.  
    As the crew was carrying their luggage and crates out of the ship, Cara noticed a man making its way through the crowd in their direction. Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood up remarkably, even though he did his best not to draw any attention to him and stay as inconspicuous as possible. He stopped a moment, observing them from a distance and she saw how tawny his skin was and that his long black hair was braided with beads. Native beads. Half-Indian, she thought. How interesting. This had to be her father's contact here in Boston. She had overheard him say that his mother was a woman of the Northern tribes. Mohawk, she believed, or something like that. Instinctively, she waved her hand at him.  
    Connor raised his eyes, frowning. He had not expected two visitors. And certainly not a woman. No, now that he was closer, he could see that she was not a woman yet. More a girl, from all appearances. A pale girl in light muslins and a straw hat with a blue ribbon tied just under her chin, from which bright red locks escaped and came brushing her cheek with the faint summer breeze. Her skin was so white it almost blended with the very light blue of her corseted dress, making her red hair even more unreal. Small and frail, light as a feather, it was a wonder the wind of the open sea had not blown her away.  
    He advanced towards them.  
    "You must be Gilbert Black."  
    "Indeed," Cara's father said, "and this is my daughter, Cara."  
    The girl only peered at him from under the rim of her straw hat, green eyes flashing as fast as lightning, as she extended a hand covered in a white lace glove.  
    "I'm Connor," he said curtly.  
    Not knowing what to do, he caught her fingers in his large hand and started shaking them. His hold was warm and firm but not too tight. She could feel his calluses even through the lace of her glove. The gesture surprised her. Where had he been educated? Then, she remembered. His mother was Indian. He had probably never learned good manners. She would have to teach him, apparently.  
    "You're not supposed to shake my hand," she reproved, but under her batting lashes her eyes only betrayed her amusement.  
    "I'm sorry," he simply answered, releasing her hand, a bit uneasy. "I was told only to expect Mr Black."  
    "I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience," Gilbert said. "But I simply couldn't leave my daughter alone. Surely, there is some place where she'll be safe."  
    Connor took a deep breath, thinking.  
    "I could take you to where I live."  
    "You don't live in Boston?" Cara asked, curiosity brightening her eyes.  
    "No, I live further away. A good thing I came on the Aquila, or else it would have been a long journey by horse through the hills. And dangerous."  
    "What's the Aquila?" she demanded.  
    "My ship," he replied, pointing at it, looming majestically over the pier, a few feet away.  
    "There is no time to lose, then," Gilbert said.  
  
    When the crew of the Aquila had brought all their belongings in, Connor had set sail for the Davenport homestead. Cara had stayed out, letting the sea breeze caressing her face, eyes half closed, arms folded on the railing. She studied the ship, observed the men working, the tall silhouette of Connor behind the wheel. As highly unusual as it was, she accepted the fact that such a young man could be captain of his own ship. She had seen stranger things in the past. The people who mixed with her father were always uncommon, to say the least. Assassins. She had heard the word more often than she wished. She guessed the implications, even though her father tried to keep her as innocent as possible.   
    Connor intrigued her. She had an idea his personal story must be interesting. He picked her curiosity. She wanted to know everything about him, from his childhood to the reason why he became what he was. For there was never any coincidences, that much she was certain of, and nothing happened by accident. One way or the other, she would get him to tell her. She always got what she wanted. That was her talent in life. No one could deny her anything. She only had to bat her lashes and she would get what she wanted. It had always been that way, ever since she was a young girl. Ever since her mother had died.  
    She knew he was looking at her. She could feel his eyes lingering on her figure, trying to fathom what sort of girl she was. She was sure he had never met anyone like her. He certainly didn't seem comfortable with her. But it didn't prevent him from spying on her as he was pretending to bar the wheel. She slowly turned and raised her eyes to him, enjoying how he suddenly blinked. She could have sworn he had turned red, but his face was partially hidden in the shade of his captain's hat. She waved at him casually.  
    "How long before we reach destination, captain?" she called heartily.  
    "We're almost there," he answered.  
    She even liked the sound of his voice, low and deep. She could only imagine what it would be like to have him murmur sweet words of affection in her ear. She felt goosebumps rise on her pale flesh, so unexpectedly she thought it must have been the sudden change in the wind.   
  
    But today, as she thought about their first encounter, she was quite certain the goosebumps had not been provoked by the wind, for she felt them again as she watched Connor bathing in the crystal clear water of the pool. She had been unable to get him to open up to her. Frustrated, she had come at him, again and again, in a way that she thought subtle, until she understood she made a fool of herself and he would never tell her anything of his past. Was it that he disliked her? She wasn't sure. He didn't shun her presence. He actually enjoyed looking at her or listening to her playing the pianoforte she had brought with her from Virginia. But talking to her seemed painful. He was always more at ease when she said nothing. True, he was a man of few words and she always had the impression that her chatter bothered him.  
    As her thoughts wandered, he made his way to the riverbank, springing up so abruptly she didn't have the time to look away. Dripping wet, his body glimmered in front of her bedazzled eyes. Now that she could see him more clearly, she noticed the lines of his muscles seemed to dance with his every move. She had never seen a fully naked man before, let alone such an athletic one. He would make even the Greek gods green with envy, so well-proportioned as he was. A good thing he wasn't facing her, she thought, her cheeks turning even redder than they already were. He dressed quickly, fastening all his buttons and belts, picking up his bow and shoving it behind his back. After shaking his head again, he tied his hair in his usual half-tail and started heading back to the manor.   
    She let out a long sigh. That's when she realised that she had stopped breathing all the while he was getting dressed. Having lost all desire for reading, she gathered her blanket, her book and her straw hat, and proceeded down the hill. Still hazy and her head full of Connor's nakedness, she didn't see the rocks rolling in front of her. When she felt herself slipping, it was already too late and she sensed her ankle give way with a snap. She fell with a loud squeal of pain, losing grip of hat, book and blanket. She tried to get back on her feet immediately but had to admit defeat as her ankle yielded one more time, eliciting another wail of agony and frustration. She sat there for a while, rubbing her throbbing ankle, wondering what to do, when the leaves of the bush nearby parted with a loud rustle.  
    "Miss Black!" Connor exclaimed, surprised at finding her in the wilderness, injured and obviously helpless. "Are you alright?"  
    So much for pointing the evidence. Of course, she wasn't alright.   
    "I think I sprained my ankle," she explained.  
    "Let me have a look."  
    He bent on her foot, lifting the seam of her skirt to probe the already bulging joint.  
    "Can you walk?" he asked, raising his face to hers as she winced from the pain of his touch.  
    "I don't think so," she replied, utter misery in her eyes.  
    "Then, I'll have to carry you."  
    And he picked her up as if she was nothing more than a very light bundle. She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, her heart beating faster and faster. She had wished so strongly for this to happen, for his arms to encase her, his chest pressed on hers, the warmth of his body spreading to hers. Her wish was granted and it was even better than she had imagined. His hair still damp from his bath dripped a little on his neck and she felt the foolish urge to lick the droplets. She closed her eyes to shake those ideas off. What was she thinking? She could barely realise what was happening, but she already knew she didn't want it to end.  
    "You're not going to carry me all the way, are you?" she asked, eyes bright with expectation under long batting lashes.  
    "It's not a problem. You're light as a feather," he answered, his serious expression getting a little dark.  
    She pouted in disbelief, nestling closer to his chest. Why did she always have to do that? Act coy. He liked her better when she didn't pretend to be otherwise than she was. A sweet girl. He didn't like the airs she was giving herself. And he didn't like her incessant and pointless blabber. But he enjoyed having her trapped in his arms, at his mercy, unable to move. And most of all, unable to speak. For, in order to hide her rising confusion, she had buried her face in his shoulder and all he could feel was the warmth of her breath on his neck. He had a perfect view of her cleavage, too tightly imprisoned in her corset. Her alabaster skin rose and fell fast as her heart raced in her chest.   
    She made him uncomfortable. Uneasy. She always asked too many questions. He wasn't used to well-born women. He never knew if she was serious or making fun of him. He didn't want to play her games. He had known what she wanted since the first time their eyes had met. She had never ceased flirting, trying to get him to touch her, to compliment her, but never actually doing anything. Frustrated, he had fled her company, preferring the familiar environment of the brothel. At least, when he was there, the women never asked him anything in return. He paid, he got what he wanted, no feelings involved. Maybe he was too afraid to admit that he liked Cara. Maybe he was too afraid to admit that she was only playing with him.  
    But right now, she was in his arms and it was all that mattered. Her scented hair smelled of roses and orchids, and he brushed his cheek lightly on the top of her head. Surprised by his soft touch, she raised her face from his shoulder to meet his stare, her innocent light green irises drowning in his earnest dark brown eyes. His insides tore suddenly, an ache rising fast deep in his core. Her lips were so inviting he almost didn't resist the urge of kissing her. But they were already climbing the steps that led to the manor doorway.  
    "What happened?" Achilles asked, rushing out of the house, and the moment was gone, forever out of his grasp.  
  
    Months passed and Connor kept himself busy. Cara barely saw him and when he was at the manor, he spent his days helping Achilles, so they were never alone. He devised something with her father. Some kind of plan. It bored her beyond reason and she regretted leaving her sweet and beloved Virginia. There was no other choice, of course, but she missed her home. She missed her slaves. At least, she could talk to them. Here, there was no one to talk to, no one to have a decent conversation with. Connor was the only person that interested her, but since the day she had sprained her ankle, they had never been alone again. She had the fleeting impression that something could have happened. She had seen desire in his eyes. But he had done nothing about it. What was wrong? Wasn't she beautiful? She had no doubt she was. She knew how the sharp contrast of her deep red hair with her creamy skin turned men on. She had refused many propositions, back in Virginia. So, what was the problem with Connor?  
    She was enjoying the last rays of the afternoon sun on the balcony, elbows resting on the railing. On her own, as was so often the case these days. Everyone seemed to be busy but for her. So, she was daydreaming, thinking of the life she left in Virginia, the life that could have been hers had he accepted to marry one of those rich plantation owners who had proposed to her back then. She didn't hear the door open behind her, nor the soft footsteps of the ever discreet Connor. He stayed there, watching her, without making a noise. Her delicate figure stood out against the bright sky and the dark canopy of the trees. He didn't dare make a move, lest he disturb the quiet of the scene. He couldn't take his eyes away from the little hair curling on the back of her neck. What was she thinking about? She looked melancholic, unaffected even, which was quite rare. He found that he liked that look.  
    He started walking back to the door when she turned with a sigh. Her eyes fell on him, surprised. She thought Connor had left with her father for Boston.  
    "How long have you been here?" she inquired, annoyed that he had not revealed his presence.  
    "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'm sorry," he replied. "I'll leave you alone."  
    "Alone?" she snapped. "You think I enjoy being alone?"  
    He didn't know what to answer her, so he just stood there, silent.  
    "Please," she begged. "Don't leave me alone. Don't go again."  
    She looked so sad all of a sudden, he didn't have the heart to leave. Fidgeting, he waited for her to speak again.  
    "Besides, what are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you had gone to Boston with Father."  
    "I forgot something important."  
    "I bet it wasn't to say goodbye to me," she stated with bitterness.  
    "Will you stop with that? The world doesn't revolve around you!" he blurted.  
    He had not meant to be so harsh, but it was so true. She looked at him, shock painted on her face.  
    "You," she began, infuriated. "You are so rude! You will apologise!"  
    "Why? I haven't insulted you," he retorted.  
    "You do not talk back to a lady," she said coldly. "You deserve a lesson in good manners, and it's high time someone should teach you."  
    "And do you propose to be the teacher?" he asked, amused now at her cold fury.  
    Her nostrils flared and she shook her head.  
    "No, I don't. As a matter of fact, I don't want to talk to you. Ever. Again."  
    She headed towards the door, but he barred the way, all tall and impressive, standing firm on his feet.  
    "Let me pass," she hissed.  
    "Not before you give me that lesson in good manners that you think I so absolutely lack."  
    Anger made her even more desirable than she normally was. Her widened pupils, her hot cheeks, her breasts bulging hard against the tight fabric of her corset had an unexpected effect on him. Visions of her pressed on the wall under him, disheveled, her legs wrapped around his thighs as he had his way with her flashed before his eyes.  
    "You will let me pass," she repeated, more feebly this time, as she tried to reach for the door behind him.  
    He caught her wrists in his hands, preventing her from seizing the knob.  
    "Let me go!" she pleaded in an attempt to wring her wrists free from his hold, but he only clenched harder, reverting their position. Pushing her against the door, he raised her arms above her head, pinning her, trapping her under him. She resisted his hold as best she could, kicking and writhing, but to no avail.  
    "Connor, what are you doing?" she questioned, trembling, suddenly realising that it was dangerous to play with fire.  
    "What I should have done a long time ago," he growled low, his voice sending thrills in her spine.  
    His mouth crashed on hers and her head bumped on the wood of the door. Vaguely aware of the pain, she ceased to resist completely, her whole body reacting hotly to his kiss. Goosebumps appeared all over her flesh, her fingers clenched on his hands and her hips rose to meet his. Her mind suddenly registered what was happening. His lips pressed hard on hers, forcing her to open her mouth, and his tongue claimed her fiercely. He let go of her hands and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, moaning into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. He seized her hips and lifted her until her feet were high above the floor. She strengthened her hold on his shoulders and he released her mouth, only to take it again, this time sucking her lower lip, taking it between his teeth, before kissing her again  with passion. Her leg cinched and coiled around his powerful thighs.   
    His mouth began a burning trail down her neck, all the way to her cleavage, which he licked slowly, eliciting a loud squeal from her. Her own reaction frightened her. She had not expected to be so turned on, but there was no denying her arousal. She was on fire, from head to toe. She pressed her hips shamelessly against him, feeling his own excitement rising. Her body wanted him, needed him with an intensity she had never known before. And yet, in her head, flashed a warning.   
    "No," she managed to utter as his tongue tried to reach between her breasts.  
    He didn't stop.  
    "No," she repeated, louder this time. "Please, stop. Don't do that."  
    He turned his face towards hers, incomprehension on his face.  
    "You don't like it?" he inquired.  
    "No, it's not that," she explained. "It's just highly improper."  
    "Kissing your mouth is alright, but kissing your breasts is improper?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.  
    "Didn't you say you wanted a lesson in good manners?" she tried to stall, to buy time so she could break free from his tight embrace.  
    "In bed, there are no good or bad manners. The only thing that counts is the pleasure it procures."  
    "But we're not in bed," she stated flatly.  
    "We can remedy that right now," he said, picking her up and effortlessly hurling her on his shoulder.  
    He opened the door, carrying her to his bedroom, while she shouted and kicked fiercely, knowing full well that no one was there to come to her aid.  
    "Connor! Let me go! Put me down!"  
    "Alright, as you command, my lady," he said, throwing her on his bed.  
    She bounced two or three times on the mattress before he caught her, hovering over her.  
    "Connor!"   
    "What? I put you down. Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked before kissing her again, muffling her answer with his mouth and tongue.  
    They rolled on the bed, bodies tangled, until he was under her, and she sat on him, trying to break free again. His kisses made her weak, though, and her judgement was clouded by the strong desire she felt for him. Wasn't it what she always dreamed of? What she had wanted ever since he first touched her hand? Hadn't she spent all her time wondering what it would be like to be held in his arms, to have his mouth kissing her? But it was all so fast. Already, his lips were back on her cleavage, his hands fumbling with the ribbons tightly fastening her corset, with no success. She vaguely heard a metallic sound and her corset opened all at once, releasing her breasts under her sheer cotton shirt. The hidden blade was still unsheathed when he ripped her shirt open, so eager was he to finally see what he coveted so much.  
    "Stop," she pleaded again. "You're going to hurt me with that thing."  
    He raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn't pleading for him to stop undressing her. She was staring at the blade with wide eyes, visibly aroused by the sight of it. He smiled as he sheathed it. Sex and weapons. What a perfect combination. Against all odds, she was more suited to him than he had thought. But of course, he should have expected so. Wasn't her father a very skilled assassin too?  
    "You like it, don't you?" he asked, licking his lips.  
    She only nodded.  
    "It's so convenient," he went on.  
    "A deadly tool for a tough warrior," she said dreamily as she stood there, half-naked, her breasts pointing proudly at him, her hair all undone falling messily around her face.  
    He quickly got rid of his vambraces, removing his clothes one by one until the only thing remaining was his necklace, echoing her own locket now nestled right between her breasts. She could have gone, she could have broken free while he was undressing. But no, she was still there, creamy white flesh all covered in tiny goosebumps, mouth half-open as she stared at his tanned and muscular shoulders. He advanced a hand, cupping her breast, and her nipple hardened instantly. He leaned on her, taking it in his mouth eagerly, teeth grazing her soft skin, and she arched her back with a sigh.   
    The sight of the blade had loosened something in her. She felt the need of him rise in her violently, sending hot flusters throughout her body. She was wet between the thighs and the only thing she wanted now was his naked body all over hers. She reached out to him, but he got to her first. His fingers tangling in her hair, his chest clashed against hers, his mouth sucking at her neck, almost biting her. He tugged at her hair so he could get a better angle. Her head swam, she felt dizzy as it became increasingly difficult to breathe, the angle at which he held her pressuring her throat. But his lips felt incredibly delicious, as if he was marking her as his own.  
    Already, he was growing more impatient. As his mouth licked and sucked and bit her neck then her nipples, his hands moved down her belly. She had too many layers of clothes. It was frustrating. The whores at the brothel were so much easier to undress. He found the seam of her skirt and tore at it. The light muslin ripped apart easily, the sound both chilling and exciting her. She clung to his shoulders as he did the same with her petticoat and undergarment. He pinned her on the bed while he got rid of his boots and trousers. She tried to see what he was doing but he was holding her down, his hand right between her breasts. She knew what must happen now. She wasn't prepared. How could anyone be prepared, she thought?   
    As she closed her eyes, trying to relax, she felt his fingers on her slit, spreading her wetness all over. Next thing she knew, his face was between her legs, lapping at her juices. She uttered a strangled moan and her fingers flew to his head, twining in his hair. He took her clit between his lips and she shuddered in pleasure.  
    "Connor," she cried out, her fingers clutching his hair.  
    He continued licking and sucking her cunt until she could take no more and collapsed down on the bed, shivering, spasms running over her body. She closed her eyes, savouring her orgasm and before she knew it, he thrusted inside her, ripping her virginity as he had ripped her clothes, without any hesitation. Even in the aftermath of her climax, she winced in pain, whimpering loudly, but he continued thrusting until he was completely buried in her. Three times, he came at her the same way. And three times, she winced as she hurt, clenching her fists on the bedcovers. He never stopped, alternating hard and fast thrusts with slower long-drawn ones, and she felt something gradually melt inside her. Each time he filled her, she tingled more and more acutely. Her sighs transformed into moans and she held on to him, burying her nails in his shoulders. She began to move her hips with his and he lifted her butt, his cock reaching even deeper in her. She opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering, her mouth searching for his. She kissed him hard, her hands roaming his back, scratching him each time his cock touched the back of her walls.  
    His hard length stretched her, rubbing her hard. The pleasure was not the same as before, not as intense, but still highly enjoyable. She felt it deeper in her core. His grunts of satisfaction, his fingers gripping her hips, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes shadowed with desire told her he was close. Each time she moved her hips to meet his thrusts, he grasped her butt more brutally, slamming into her as hard as he could. She felt better than he had imagined. She was inexperienced and hesitant, but it was pleasant. It was more than pleasant. Her sweet cunt was so tight he didn't know how long he could last. She was tight, yes, but she could also take in the whole of him. And it was nice, for once, to know that she enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her without having to pay.   
    He wanted her in another way now. He wanted total control. He let her go and she looked disappointed. Turning her swiftly, he seized her hips and entered her from behind with a groan. As his pleasure was rising fast, he took hold of her hair and tugged her head until her back reached his chest. Still pounding her hard, he searched for her mouth, his tongue probing her deeply as his cock plunged as far as he could. He came with a long shudder, his body tightening, his hands maintaining her belly into position. His seed shot inside her in thick spurts and she clenched her walls on him as he continued to ride her through his orgasm. He was still hard and after a few more thrusts, she shuddered again with a loud moan.  
    They stayed entwined for a long moment, kissing and caressing, their bodies glistening with sweat. Then, they rolled in the sheets, and she nestled her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her, enjoying his powerful, almost animal, smell.   
    "I did well to come back," he whispered in her ear.  
    "What was it again that you returned for?" she asked, cuddling even closer in his warm arms.  
    "I wish I could tell you."  
    "And I wish you'd never leave."  
    He sighed, knowing it was already late and he had lingered longer than he should. Gilbert must have arrived in Boston, and he couldn't make him wait. He got up, frowning. She clung to him, kissing him one last time. Her lips tasted so good. For the first time, he thought he could have a life. A real life. Not an assassin's life. He could be happy spending his days with her. Then, he realised he would never be happy until his people could live free again. He shoved Cara away to get dressed. She watched him wrap in his long cloak, clasping the vambraces on his arms. Before he left, she touched the sheath of the hidden blade one last time.  
    "Return to me, Connor," she said, looking deep in his eyes.  
    Without a word, he stepped outside, melting with the shadows of the corridor. 


End file.
